


Anticipate/Begin

by Coffee_Flavored_Kisses



Series: Tumblr Drabbles and Prompts [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses/pseuds/Coffee_Flavored_Kisses
Summary: You've probably already seen this on Tumblr but I'm putting it here, too. You know, for posterity.





	Anticipate/Begin

David is talking about witch hazel and Patrick can’t stop staring at his lips. It isn’t supposed to be like this. It shouldn’t be so distracting. Yes, he’s beautiful, and yes, he’s the only person in the world who’s ever made Patrick feel this way, but _goddammit_. It isn’t supposed to be like this.

David tells a story about his mother, on hiatus from her TV show. The roles don’t come around like they used to. She’s just turned forty. David himself has no idea what the world is about, but he imagines that the woman sprawled out in bed, the woman under the peacock lashes and the permed wigs has something to do with what makes it turn day after day. He doesn’t know what to do for her, so he sits with her and they gossip about all the celebrities who’ve sold out for parts. Not Moira Rose, she says. Not her, David agrees. And as he tells this story to Patrick, he becomes embarrassed. “I don’t even know how I got onto that little tangent, but anyway…” and Patrick wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

Patrick walks into the store about a week before they open, and David is sitting on the floor of the stock room, dust on pants that could pay Patrick’s rent three times over. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says, and his eyes show it. “We still haven’t found a name for this product, and the label order is due today.” Patrick sits with him, dust on his clothes that aren’t worth anywhere near as much, and they brainstorm. David comes to something surprisingly fast. Patrick smiles. Patrick might be falling in love. Scratch that. Patrick _is_ falling in love. And it doesn’t make sense, and it doesn’t have to. And for the first time ever, it doesn’t hurt.

David drops his pen and bends over to pick it up. Patrick, standing behind him, barely recovers. He goes home early that day. _Good Lord_.

David and Patrick turn the sign over. Opening day was a success. Worth celebrating. They hug, and Patrick knows he’s holding on too long. And David knows, too, but he doesn’t care. Maybe he does like hugs, after all. Lights flicker, _damn them_, and Patrick is off to fix them. All night long, he thinks about those few seconds where David’s body was pressed against his body, and David’s skin was against his skin, and David’s lips were so close to his ear that for a moment Patrick thought he could hear him whispering the secrets of their future. He wants to feel that again and never feel anything else. He wants to bottle up that feeling and sell it in the store so they everyone can know what it’s like to hold David Rose in their arms. But then no, he doesn’t want anyone else to feel that. He wants it all to himself.

It’s David’s birthday, and he’s come as close to saying it as he can without actually saying it. _Look, David, I gave you a piece of us. Look, David, this is important to me. Look, David, I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re a hazard to my health, David, and if it kills me, so be it, but please. Please kiss me before this night is over._

It’s almost over. The moment has probably passed, but Patrick has to say it. He has to thank him for this evening, even if it wasn’t for him. He has to thank David for showing that he enjoys his company outside of work. _He enjoys my company outside of work, right?_ But he lets David speak first, and he doesn’t have much to add. He’ll say it all someday, he knows. Someday, he’ll find the courage. The strength. The part of him that could never be good enough but manages to say it out loud anyway.

There’s a hand on his cheek, fingers splayed over his jaw. There are lips, impossibly soft, pressing against his. There’s no time to take a breath. His eyes are closed tight, but life’s never been so illuminated. And then it’s over. It took too long to happen, and it was over too fast, but it’s over.

They’ll talk tomorrow.

It’s just begun.


End file.
